Ringbearers
by Arenoa
Summary: Without giving away too much of the story... The One Ring changes sides, no longer serving Sauron, but its own intentions. Main characters are Frodo, Glorfindel, and Galadriel. Some slash, but the plot is central.


Lothlórien had been a place of peace, one that Frodo had had a hard time leaving. With each step away from the golden wood, the Ring grew heavier. And with each step, Frodo became more aware of what the Ring was straining for, of where it wished to lead him.  
West. Away from Sauron and toward... He could not guess what the Ring desired. All he knew was the weight of the cursed thing. It was no longer the weight of iron drawn to a magnate. It was the weight of something held ever at the end of a taut rope, pulled farther away, past the point when something should have snapped.  
Frodo wondered if the invisible rope was tied to the Ring, or to the crumbling fortress that was his heart.  
  
"Mister Frodo?"  
Sam. Curse him Didn't he realize that Frodo had changed, that the terrible burden he carried was more powerful than friendship? More powerful, even, than hope? Always seeking Frodo out, when what he most desired was solitude...  
"Mister Frodo! There you are!" The chubby hobbit puffed a bit as he came to the top of the steep embankment where Frodo sat. Twigs and leaves clung to the rough weave of his clothing, and the hair on his feet was matted with mud. He seemed not to notice these things, smiling broadly at Frodo. "Strider says we'll be out of this wood by sunset - sunset of tomorrow, that is. What do you think of that, Mister Frodo?"  
"Just Frodo," Frodo said, his voice sounding strained even to him. The title Sam had given him sounded too close to "Master" for his comfort. The Ringbearer knew there was only one Master - Sauron, the Lord of the Rings.  
"Yes of course," Sam gabbled on. "You see, I thought we'd have a bit of a feast - a celebration, that is - in honor of the next leg of our journey."  
Frodo forced himself to smile. "That sounds lovely, Sam. I'll be along in a moment." He wondered why passing out of the forest was something to be celebrated. The thought of open land filled him with fear, an emotion echoed in the weight of the Ring.  
Sam saw Frodo's eyes grow dull and distant, and knew that he was thinking about the One Ring. He also knew that he could no longer pull Frodo from his thoughts with a comforting word or jest. The Ringbearer was beyond any of them. "Well then," he said, not knowing if Frodo heard. "I'll be going, then- can't leave a meal in the hands of a Brandybuck for long, eh?" He turned and made his way back down the hill, stumbling a bit in the dim light of evening.  
Watching him go, Frodo was surprised to feel tears slipping down his face. He went to wipe them away, but stopped, letting his hand fall into the soft earth by his side. Had he changed so much, and Sam so little, in the short time since they had left the Shire? He wept long and bitterly.  
After a time, he became aware of someone standing behind him.  
"We can never go back," Frodo said without turning, "can we?"  
There was no answer to that. There was no need to say what both of them knew.  
"I told the others I had gone for firewood," Pippin said. He always knew when Frodo felt most alone. And he always came, offering neither judgment or comfort. "I thought you might like to talk, a bit."  
"What is there to say?"  
Pippin shrugged, but it was a gesture of understanding, not dismissal. He sat on the ground by Frodo, and sat in silence as the other hobbit cried. His hand moved up to encircle Frodo's shoulders. They sat so for a while, until Frodo calmed and pulled away from Pippin's embrace. "In the morning I go my own way. West." His words carried the surety of someone who has come to a hard decision and cannot be swayed from their choice.  
"The Ring?"  
Frodo nodded. There was a short silence.  
"I would carry it for you," Pippin offered, "but it isn't mine to bear."  
"I know."  
"You'll be going alone, then?"  
"Not alone. The Ring will be with me."  
"I'm sorry."  
"I know."  
No more was said. After all, what was there to say? Frodo leaned in and rested his head on Pippin's shoulder. "We should go back to the camp," he said dully.  
"I'd rather stay," Pippin said. They both understood his meaning.  
Frodo lifted his head, then, and their lips touched. Gently, at first, then more passionately. They fell back against the ground, Frodo's hand pressed into the small of Pippin's back, pulling them together.  
Pippin began to undo the buttons at Frodo's throat and chest, pulling his shirt away and kissing the soft skin by his collarbone. For a while, Frodo's arms were trapped by his shirt. Before he could free them, Pippin unclasped the chain around his neck, letting the Ring fall into the dirt. Frodo snatched for it, but Pippin caught his wrist. "Let it be," he said, and kissed Frodo again and again until all thought of the Ring faded from the his mind.  
They rolled to the side, Frodo coming out on top. He ran his trembling fingers over the body of his friend and long-time lover.  
The Ring glinted slightly in the light of the half-moon, but neither of them saw or cared.  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, but I've been a writer for most of my life, and I'm always looking for suggestions to improve my work. Don't gush or flame, say something useful! Of course, if you really like it, feel free to gush all you like... *laughs* Anyway, I'll try to have Chapter two up tonight or tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed. 


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